Ampersand: Poems

By D. S. Martin

D.S. Martin's new poetry collection Ampersand brings together portraits & observations where the poet reflects upon artists, saints, reformers, poets, his own elderly parents, & various biblical characters--including twelve poems written for each of the twelve disciples. Ampersand--as the title suggests--brings together many disparate things, giving room for diverse reflections on human experience & the world in which we live.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cascade Books
• Release date: Feb 14, 2018
• ISBN: 9781532647710

D. S. Martin

D.S. Martin is known internationally for his blog Kingdom Poets. His previous poetry collections include Poiema (2008), which was honored as a winner at the Word Awards, and a chapbook, So The Moon Would Not Be Swallowed. His poems have appeared in such publications as Anglican Theological Review, The Christian Century, Convivium, Ruminate, Sehnsucht, and Sojourners. He lives in the Toronto area, where he edits the other collections in the Poiema Poetry Series.

Book preview

& (Ampersand)

What I love about the ampersand is its compactness

& the way it’s open to new & unexpected possibilities

almost forming an eternal figure eight but not quite

for when the sentence seems to be over

or approaching its end the ampersand appears

like the first of a hundred thousand well-armed angels

emerging from the backseat of a Volkswagen & improbable hope

erupts like a new sunrise sharply piercing the skin of dark night

with radiating shards of light

& despite the smug sleep of the ninety nine sheep

when the wanderer’s gone the good shepherd appears

with it draped across his shoulders & the lost coin

is swept from the cobwebs

& the prodigal stumbles home where his father watches

& waits & refuses to lose hope scanning the horizon

for his returning son & then he grabs the hem of his garment

& runs & it’s then we recognize the continual pattern

of conflict & resolution of estrangement & reconciliation

& even of death & resurrection

a pattern that is by no means inevitable but woven

like the arms of a twisting ampersand

into the fabric of the universe

SAINTS & STUMBLERS

The Twelve

I — Matthew

Yes I knew Matthew

the best tax collector Capernaum ever had

I know that sounds more like an insult

but it’s true It wasn’t his fault

his skills were in demand & Herod

was willing to pay a good price

He wasn’t like the rest Rome usually employs

vermin sell-outs whose pockets clink

with the fishy stink of dishonest scales

like a monetary meat-cleaver that hacks us

When he threw parties he didn’t notice

the wealthy tisk-tisking his guest list

swelling with the names of the hoi polloi

even those unable to pay their taxes

I was one of the so-called sinners

at his retirement party when he left

his business to follow Jesus I laughed

when I heard his young rabbi tell the Pharisees

It isn’t those who think they’re healthy

who are eager to get well

II — Bartholomew

Can anything good come from Nazareth from the sticks

from that dotless hick-town on the edge of the map?

I get you son of Talmai the one John called Nathaniel

Nothing like that would drop in our laps round here

How can anything good come from Nowhereville

from somewhere even lower than where you’re from

from the wrong side of the tracks the under side

of a stone? Philip knew you well enough

to find you studying alone under your fig tree

knew well enough you weren’t mocking prophets

or balking at his mind so answered

your wonder Come & see

I get you Bartholomew No one could fool

you No naked emperors could pull

invisible wool over your eyes & so it’s all the better

that you were there to watch angels

up & down Jacob’s ladder that you saw

the Christ ascending to the skies

III — Philip of Bethsaida

When my friend questioned me about Jesus

I’d said Come & see but now realize

that eyes open gradually

that I’d had to start with cloudy shapes

of men like trees walking like

that man from my hometown peering

through the spittle

When the Greeks said We want to see Jesus

I grabbed Andrew fearing my brittle

thread of insight would snap

before knowing what to do for when

the Master had asked me about buying

the crowd bread my faith was too little

to say

When we reclined at the table with Jesus

he began to wash our feet Peter couldn’t

see why he’d bother Thomas tripped

on knowing the way & I asked him to show

us the Father His responses were kind

even though on the eve of his sorrows

we were still so blind

IV — Andrew Son of Jonah

He’d always been my level-headed son

&